Oh wow it's been like... four months?

Sorry for keeping you, I've been really busy with school and Christmas. Hopefully the next chapter won't take quite that long.

So, I've got about 5 big points:

1. Thank you so very much for all the comments, favourites and follows. They mean the absolute world to me. If I haven't replied to anything it's probably because I saw it, left it too late, and felt too awkward to reply after letting a comment sit there for like three weeks.

2. There wont be much dialogue until the cats are all comfortably settled in the house and Harry shows his true isolated-hermit colours.

3. There is, in fact, going to be a plot. A big one, I think. So rest assured that I'm going to keep this going. As a handful of people pointed out, Harry really has the most ridiculous luck.

4. Someone asked for a list of all the cats, so I'll put that in the end notes.

5. I wrote and edited most of this on the train home from Manchester, on my phone, so if there's anything weird let me know. My autocorrect hates wizard-related words and sometimes pushes in random Welsh.

Digging through the fridge, Harry starts by finding some of the leftovers forced on him by Hermionie the previous day to pile onto plates to feed the cats. With shredded chicken, beef and some canned tuna set out he grabs more bowls for water. With a quick levitation charm, he carefully leads the procession of plates onto the patio, and steps back.

Letting his wand trace the doorway, Harry sets up a minor sensory ward there as well as on the bowls, before charming the immediate area to remain as warm as the indoors, to avoid losing any accumulated heat. With a satisfied nod, he leaves to continue with his interrupted Monday morning routine.

Relief is all too weak a word to describe how Harry feels upon hearing the chime of his sensory ward. After an hour and a half of filling out bland paperwork and replying to endless letters he's finally faced with a real excuse for stopping. Only to slump when he realises he should wait a bit, lest he spook them further.

Twenty minutes and numerous, futile watch-checks later, he's quietly making his way back downstairs and towards the back entrance. Casually strolling past the still-open door reveals two of the more reckless-looking cats (silver and blonde) and, to the distress of indigo and maroon, the ginger one, all three of them are feasting on some of the food left out as if they hadn't eaten in days. Which, Harry realises with a dull pang of remembrance, is probably true. Behind them, big blue and the one with the missing eye look sorely tempted to join them, while the remainder watch on from behind the bubble of warm air in either boredom or exasperation. The small red one, he notes, is curled up just within the bubble, and seems very determined to ignore the entire situation despite his hesitant twitching.

As soon as Harry steps into view they all train their eyes on him, hyper focused and distracted from their mewling. Without missing a beat he waves a careless salute and wanders towards the kitchen. After tapping he kettle to the perfect temperature he sets about making a mug of tea, and slowly the sound of cats starts up again. From his limited view of the porch he can spot a handful of colourful tails shifting together, converging.

Harry spends a moment contemplating the cats he's determined to bring into his care. They're a miserable, emancipated lot, and something deep within him aches at how defeated they looked, huddled in the shadows of his shed. Sighing, he finishes stirring in the milk and turns away from the window.

Tea in hand, Harry returns to the living room and makes himself comfortable on the sofa facing slightly away from the open door - through which he can spot the growing crowd within the bubble of warmth. Rolling his eyes, he summons the book abandoned on the mantelpiece late the previous night following his return from the Granger-Weasley household. A loan from Ron, it's part of the proposed mandatory reading for Auror recruits on defensive magic he's been asked to look over. Settling into it, Harry ignores the quieter, but no less noticeable sound of cats conversing outside his back door, and quells the anticipation brewing at the thought of a new adventure.

It's just past one o'clock when Harry finally puts the book down and decides on lunch. With a yawn, he pulls himself up off the sofa and chances a less-than-covert glance through the backdoor. He restrained himself from watching them throughout the morning, having finally had the "you're as subtle as a rogue bludger, Harry, honestly" lesson drummed into him by Ginny in the years following the war. Unobtrusive does not a Wizarding Saviour make.

Most of the cats have settled into either a relaxed slouch or a solid food-coma, while only the stitches and the outcasted black remain out and alert. Though judging from the bare scraps left of the volumes of food he left out, they too had their fill.

With careful steps he makes his way to the opening and crouches down in as nonthreatening a manner as physically possible. The dressing gown and fluffy grey rabbit slippers, he hopes, helps to that effect. Many raise from their slumped positions, while others are content to either sleep on or crack a single eye to train on him. Smiling in what Hermione calls "disarming" and McGonagall calls "don't think I've forgotten the two feet on Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration you owe me, Mr Potter," he wiggles his fingers and the empty plates start to stack themselves. A few wand-taps later and some studious ignorance of the immediate tensing, and the water bowls are refilled. Gathering up the now patiently floating pile of dishes, he eyes the group once more.

"Remember you're more than welcome to come inside. I imagine it's much more comfortable than the patio." he tells them, before tapping the novelty doormat that bares the legend Wipe Your Paws amidst crisscrossing animated foot prints. Doubled gag-gifts for each entrance from the twins four years earlier, after he (finally) completed his animagus transformation. It has the handy of feature of jinxing anyone who steps across uninvited.

After reheating a more balanced plate of left overs and eating, for once, at the dining room table, Harry sets about cleaning the morning's accumulated dirty dishes. He once agin takes care to ignore the noise coming from the next room.

Crossing back in after an extra ten minutes spent aimlessly puttering about, Harry's pleased to find that three of the cats have elected to take up his offer, and more look contemplatively through the doorway. He imagines that, if it weren't for his deep sleep, the silver one would also be on his sofa. As it is, he has one blonde, one ginger, and one orange-faced cat sprawled across the love-seat opposite his own chair. On the doormat the maroon and indigo cats look more distressed than ever, hissing at the smug looking ginger. Behind them big blue and the sleek black look almost ready to chance crossing the boundary.

With a smile, Harry makes his way once more to his chosen sofa and continues browsing the borrowed book - it's alright, but he number of colourful Muggle sticky notes poking out from the sides make it clear it's lacking some depth; it's really better as a review book than anything to learn from. From his peripheral vision he can see the blonde cat being gently harassed by his companions.

It's half an hour later, by his guess, that Harry notices he's now sharing the sofa. Glancing to the left, he spies the one-eyed cat watching him attentively. Shifting the book down, he closes the quill within the now-colourful pages and realises it's not him that's caught the attention of that single dark eye, but the scruffy blue feather of his quill.

Slipping it from the book, Harry eyes the tense little body and twitching tail with amusement.

"Is this what you want?" The cat makes and aborted leap, pausing and watching carefully. With a grin, Harry drags the feather across the sofa and watches him pounce.

It's an uninterrupted ten minutes of cat-and-feather before there's one leap too far, sending the one eyed cat sailing off the edge of the sofa. With a panicked jerk, the book goes tumbling sideways as Harry throws himself into catching the little cat. The strangled noise he makes alerts the others, but Harry focuses on catching the sharp ball of fluff without hurting him.

With a sigh that's more released adrenaline than anything, he carefully brings the tense body towards himself, babbling.

"You're okay, you're alright, no need to panic, please let go of my arm."

With and almost apologetic sound, the cat detaches its claws from the startlingly deep cuts rent across his arm. A tiny nose sniffs at the now bleeding flesh, and Harry snorts, carding a his free hand through the ridiculously soft fur. "Don't worry yourself, I'll be absolutely fine."

The questioning mrow he receives in return has him transferring the cat into his lap, removing his wand to tap his now-dripping arm with a muttered "Scourgify." With the he blood scrubbed away, the cuts are visibly healing over into faint pink welts.

"See? No harm done." He grins down at the startled cat in his lap, missing the looks shared between the remaining felines. Rolling his sleeve back down, Harry quietly summons the discarded book and settles the cat more comfortable into his lap.

Looking up, he spots the three new cats dotting his furniture. Both indigo and maroon have joined orange on the sofa, while the little red one has claimed the cushy footstool. On the porch, the silver cat sleeps on while the remainder lounge attentively within the warmth.

"Im thinking I should start with some names; I can't exactly just keep calling you out by colour. It's awkward." Harry frowns out at the number of eyes watching him, suddenly uncomfortable with the reminder that he's terrible at naming things.

"Maybe... Alastor?" looking down at the contrast of black and orange in his lap, he grins. "Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody was probably the best Auror of this century. He lost his eye and his leg in the First War, so he had this crazy prosthetic eye that could see through pretty much anything." Gently petting the now sad-eyes cat, he adds "He was killed as part of my protection detail years ago. He was an excellent wizard, if a bit excessively paranoid." Here he gives a small laugh, "Though I suppose it's not paranoia if they're actually after you."

He's distracted from musing aloud by a hiss over on the footstool. The blonde cat is busy bridging the gap between love-seat and footstool to bug the ring-tailed red, who's lazily batting at the slightly larger cat. Ignoring this, the blonde continues to paw at the other regardless. With a snort, Harry watches as the he overbalances from an overly ambitious swipe and tumbles onto the rug.

"He's a Gryffindor, definitely," he tells Alastor conspiratorially as they watch him yowl up at the smirking red. "What do you think of calling him Godric? Godric Griffindor stood for bravery and chivalry - as well as recklessness and not being able to think ahead." Alastor chirps and rubs against his hand in agreement, and Harry smiles.

"Two down," he eyes the rest, "Ugh, ten to go. This will take some time."

Colour to Cat ratio:

Blonde/Godric: Deidara
Black and orange/one eyed/Alastor: Tobi
Orange/ginger: Yahiko
Silver: Hidan
Indigo: Konan
Maroon: Nagato
Small red/ring tailed: Sasori
Big blue: Kisame
Sleek black: Itachi
Brown/stitches: Kakuzu
Outcast black: Orochimaru
Black and white: Zetsu

I've got most of the cat names more-or-less decided, but if anyone want to give a suggestion please, feel free. I'm bad at naming things without making a shitty-pun. It's a catastrophic character flaw of mine. Cataclysmic even. I just struggle to find the purrfect names. Pawsitively tragic.